


lay us down, we're in love

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Romance, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop fussing,” says Xephos, gently, catching Will’s twitchy fingers in his own hands and tugging them away from the front of his shirt. “You look fine.” He lifts their linked hands to his mouth, kisses one by one across Will’s knuckles with a small smile.</p>
<p>Will groans quietly, tapering off to a quiet huff of breath when Xephos presses a kiss to his temple. “...My shirt doesn’t fit,” he admits, softly, a little distracted by the scrape of Xephos’ stubble over his temple. “Won’t button up.”</p>
<p>(In which Will's pregnancy causes unforseen inconveniences with his wardrobe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay us down, we're in love

**Author's Note:**

> **bumblebeeflower asked:** I'm curious to see mpreg from you but if you're not comfortable with that then I'd just would like fluff of some sort between Xephos and Will
> 
> written to "the end of all things" by panic! at the disco, which is where the title is drawn from. i'd recommend listening as you read. put under "other" for ships because although both strife and xephos use "he/him" pronouns they are aliens without a concept of gender.

“Stop fussing,” says Xephos, gently, catching Will’s twitchy fingers in his own hands and tugging them away from the front of his shirt. “You look _fine_.” He lifts their linked hands to his mouth, kisses one by one across Will’s knuckles with a small smile.

Will groans quietly, tapering off to a quiet huff of breath when Xephos presses a kiss to his temple. “...My shirt doesn’t fit,” he admits, softly, a little distracted by the scrape of Xephos’ stubble over his temple. “Won’t button up.”

Laughing, Xephos drops a hand to touch the distinct curve of Will’s stomach between the halves of his shirt with gentle fingers, stroking softly over it. “It’s a miracle you’ve managed to stay in them this long, honestly,” he says, pressing his palm flat against the warmth of Will’s skin. The baby’s too young to be kicking, yet – probably doesn’t even have properly formed legs – but Xephos likes to pretend he can feel movement there. “I’m surprised your trousers still do up.”

“Notch, _don’t_ ,” mutters Will, dragging a hand over his face and trying not to flush at the very thought. It’s bad enough his waistcoat had stopped fitting a week ago, and now his shirts are too small – he can’t bear the idea of not being able to wear his trousers. “I- Xephos, this is a _nightmare_. What am I going to wear?”

“Don’t you worry,” says Xephos, kissing his head and patting his tummy gently before pulling away. “I’m sure I can find something.” Without giving Will a chance to object, he slips out the room, disappearing before Will’s even opened his mouth.

Sighing, Will shrugs reluctantly out of his shirt, letting it drop to the floor in a crumpled heap behind him. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be so careless, but given he’s not going to be able to wear it for the next few months, he can’t find it in himself to care. “Ridiculous,” he mutters, turning sideways to eye his profile in the mirror – green down his spine and speckled across his chest, hair a mess, eyes a squint of annoyance. “Utterly ridiculous.”

His stomach is a clear bulge, now, he realises with a small jolt. Small enough to still look soft and mostly natural, it’s a definite, smooth curve that protrudes out past the muscular lines of his body. It’s strange, seeing how much he’s changed in only a few short months – strange, and just a little exciting.

“...I’m sorry,” he murmurs, a moment later, resting a hand atop the growing bump and looking down at it, a half-smile on his face that fills his eyes with an unusual light and warmth. “I didn’t mean that about you, I was talking about the clothes. I wouldn’t say that about you. You know I-” He pauses, swallows and smooths a hand over his own skin. “I love you very much, okay? ...Mummy loves you very much.”

It feels strange, saying it out loud – in the mirror he sees the faintest hints of a green flush creeping across his chest even as he strokes his stomach gently – but somehow _right_.

“Talking to the baby?” asks Xephos, from behind him, a hint of fond amusement in his voice.

Will jumps, barely catches himself on the wall to stop himself from toppling over, and waves off an alarmed Xephos who darts out to grab his shoulder, scared of him hurting himself. “Fine, I’m fine!” he protests, a little louder than necessary perhaps, the green flush now having reached his cheeks and the tops of his ears at the realisation he’d been overheard. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid, you know.”

“Okay!” Xephos holds his hands up in surrender, trying not to laugh. “Okay, Mr. Independent, I’ll leave you be.” He tosses a ball of fabric at Will, who only just manages to catch it as it unravels in mid-air. “I was only trying to bring you clothing…”

Despite the fact he knows the disappointment in Xephos’ tone is joking, Will still winces. “Xephos…” he says, clutching crumpled fabric Xephos had thrown at him closer to his chest, soft against the bump of his stomach. “I didn’t-”

Xephos shakes his head, smiling, and flaps a hand. “I was _joking_ ,” he says, fond exasperation laced through the words. “Go on, put it on, I want to see if it fits.” He hums thoughtfully, eyeing the differences between them – Will’s shorter height, broader shoulders, thicker arms, the rounded curve of his stomach. “I mean, it’s a little oversized on me, so hopefully…”

Shaking out the bundle in his hands, Will eyes the item of clothing he’s been tossed and sighs when he realises it’s a jumper. He’s not entirely sure what else he’d expected, though, given he’d asked _Xephos_ for clothes.

“A sweater?” he asks, tugging it over his head and sighing a little at how nice the soft fabric feels against his skin, the loose cling of it so different to the unpleasantly tight constriction of his shirts after he’d begun showing. “ _Really_?” He pulls at the hem of it, letting it settle over his stomach, fiddles with the ever-so-slightly too-short sleeves.

“It’s a catch-up dinner with Lom and Nilesy, not a formal business event. You look fine.” Xephos catches Will’s hands to stop him fussing, smoothing a rumpled section over his shoulder and leaning in to kiss his nose. “Better than fine. You look _lovely_.”

Only too willing to let Xephos distract him, Will curls their fingers together, brushing a thumb over the knuckles of Xephos’s hands. The faint, familiar bumps of Xephos’ mostly-healed scars calm the nerves fluttering in the pit of his stomach, and he exhales slowly as the tension eases from his shoulders. “...Okay,” he says quietly, a small, poorly-suppressed smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as his freckles flare a little brighter. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Xephos’ words are firm as he leans in to press his forehead to Will’s, creates a small, private space between their faces that’s dark but for the mingled, seafoam light of their bioluminescence. He brings their linked fingers up to rest on Will’s baby bump, smiling wide and full of aching love at the slight hitch in Will’s breathing. “I really do.”

 


End file.
